than Wild, his two janizaries, and his
porter, Obadiah Lemon. As soon as they had got out, the vehicle was
drawn up at the back of a tree near the cage. Having watched the funeral
at some distance, Jonathan fancied he could discern the figure of Jack;
but not being quite sure, he entered the church. He was daring enough to
have seized and carried him off before the whole congregation, but he
preferred waiting.

Satisfied with his scrutiny, he returned, despatched Abraham and Obadiah
to the northwest corner of the church, placed Quilt behind a buttress
near the porch, and sheltered himself behind one of the mighty elms.

The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many
of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial,
had gathered. A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught
by the eddies, whirled around. Jonathan mixed with the group, and, sure
of his prey, abided his time.

The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin
was deposited at the brink of the grave.

Just as the attendants were preparing to lower the corpse into the
earth, Jack fell on his knees beside the coffin, uttering the wildest
exclamations of grief, reproaching himself with the murder of his
mother, and invoking the vengeance of Heaven on his own head.

A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack was
recognised. But such was the violence of his grief,--such the
compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of
compassion. That person advanced towards him.

"I have killed her," cried Jack.

"You have," rejoined Jonathan, laying a forcible grasp on his shoulder.
"You are my prisoner."

Jack started to his feet; but before he could defend himself, his right
arm was grasped by the Jew who had silently approached him.

"Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!"

At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that,
stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave.

"Wretch!" cried Jack. "Are you not content with the crimes you have
committed,--but you must carry your villany to this point. Look at the
poor victim at your feet."

Jonathan made no reply, but ordered his myrmidons to drag the prisoner
along.

Thames, meanwhile, had drawn his sword, and was about to rush upon
Jonathan; but he was withheld by Wood.

"Do not shed more blood," cried the carpenter.

Groans and hoots were now raised by